The Women’s March: A festival of twenty-first century political folk art

At two in the morning on Saturday January 21st, dozens of Binghamton residents left their homes and crammed into busses in the dark. During a six-hour journey, the busses converged with thousands of others from all over the country, and together they crossed the Washington DC city limits as the sun rose.

These Binghamton residents, myself among them, joined over half a million people in DC and 4 million across the country in the Women’s March on Washington, what has since been called the largest day of protests in US history. Back in Binghamton, residents also participated in the historic moment. The Binghamton Sister March, drawing three thousand attendees from across the region, was one of the biggest political events this area has ever seen.

Protesters in both DC and Binghamton marched to express their discontent with the inauguration of President Trump. For many, the protests were a declaration of battle. Millions of citizens, many with little experience in politics, announced their willingness to fight over the next four years for a variety of progressive causes. Women, men, and children, chanting and waving signs, championed a remarkable diversity of issues: women’s rights to reproductive health care, racial justice, mass incarceration, public education, the Affordable Care Act, the rights of immigrants and indigenous peoples, science in public policy, climate change.... Many simply expressed indignation at the president’s disrespect for Americans of color, women, immigrants, and people with disabilities.

The marches were historic as a coordinated political action. But, in Binghamton as well as in DC, they were also spaces of creativity, festivals of culture and political art. A number of high-visibility performers took the stage at the march in DC, including Madonna, Alicia Keyes and Anti-Flag. Among them, Binghamton raised and Albany based Taina Asili invited marchers to “dance to the movement of rebellion”, with a [mix] of Afro-Latin, reggae, and rock. But, below the stage, there was another arena of art and performance - in the street. Amidst the throng of marchers, musicians played, poets read spoken word, speakers orated, groups donned costumes and acted out performances, laypeople spun slogans in word-play and painted them onto cardboard. It was a parade of twenty-first century political folk art.

Drama and art are not new to political protest. The Global Justice Movement mounted giant festival-protests around the meetings of world leaders in the late 90s. A decade earlier, ACT UP was known for their theatrical protests, as they dramatized the plight of gays and lesbians diagnosed with AIDS. The civil rights, women’s, and peace movements of the 1960s were accompanied by a sweeping cultural revolution - hippie culture - which left its mark on music, fashion, and the arts. The Women’s March was no different.

I found myself lost in the multitudes at DC, while a thousand women in knitted pink “pussy hats” danced around me. Some climbed trees or telephone poles to take panoramic photographs. Below, characters wove their way through the crowds. Captain America stood on a ledge, chanting, “This is what democracy looks like” as a ragtag band of drummers orchestrated from below. At least four lady liberties joined in. One woman had constructed a papier-mâché hat in the shape of a tampon. Another papier-mâché creation, Donald Trump, sported a long Pinocchio nose, dragging behind him his bride, the Wicked Witch of the West. As I waited for the porta-john, a chorus rang out from across the street. It was sung by a group collectively dressed as the “Mexico border wall” - each in a white full-body suit outlined in bricks. Someone else blew up a giant balloon elephant to symbolize the GOP and a procession walked with it down the streets of DC, like a fairytale motorcade.

One Binghamton resident, Macaulay Glynn, spoke about the profusion of creative expression in DC: “One of my favorite things was, when we were walking to the mall, lots of residents were hanging outside welcoming marchers, playing music. Music is inherently political…. And the fact that there were so many women who, weeks before, were sitting down in their living rooms creating a poster with their own message. A lot of their posters were gorgeous. People handed me zines in the street.”

Bobby Brown, who also made the six-hour trip from Binghamton to DC, observed, “We can’t have political protest without the culture. The drums keep the beat. A political speech - once it turns into a poem and you put your heart in it - people connect with it.”

In Binghamton, local artists played a central role in the Sister March. “The role of the arts is integral in political rallies,” commented Jim Mack, a member of the Citizen Action committee that organized the event, “they are mostly successful when they are also cultural events. The message does not always need to come in the form of an argument; if you get a poem that really touches you or music that you feel in your body, you can receive the message in a deeper way.”

One local poet, Kayla Volpe, emceed the event, punctuating speeches with her own spoken word. She described how art lifts the spirits, helping protesters to cope with otherwise solemn or alarming issues. “For the first one, I chose a love poem that I thought would be relatable to anyone. The second piece was a poem about how I needed a cigarette. I felt like after about three hours on their feet someone in the crowd was also feeling that way - comic relief. It was really heavy, and music and art helped to lighten that.”

For Kayla, her work did not need to be explicitly political, because, she said, “sometimes, I can be a political statement just by existing.”

Local musician Devinne Meyers, on the other hand, performed music that was explicitly political. Along with Alpha Brass Band and Voodoo Highway, she played music at the Atomic Tom’s afterparty, following the march. Surrounded by a newfound community of Binghamton progressives, she said she found a space where she could share her political music, which she had largely kept private. “In the past year, I have been writing a lot more political songs. I felt like I was finally able to talk about that music in an environment where I felt comfortable. My political music is not even partisan at all. I have a song about the disappearance of the working middle class. Another one is about Standing Rock - which I don’t believe is a partisan issue. I try to be respectful of all people’s beliefs. Music is about bringing people together.”

When I asked her about the role of art in politics, she recalled the words of Nina Simone: “Art reflects the times. The signs and the art reflect the times, but in a way, that’s not so fucking serious. Creativity offsets the intensity but highlights it at the same time.”

While most participants felt the marches were an overwhelming success, some in the media have cast doubt on what they actually accomplished. Marches and rallies, however, are simply one tactic in the long timeline of a movement. They serve to inspire and energize. Participants return to their communities, where they can then engage in sustained local action.

These ephemeral crowds also are cultural spaces. Marchers in DC and Binghamton shared moments of catharsis, excitement, and grief, and collectively, they painted a picture of a new and possible future.

Two artists stood on a promenade in DC next to a series of canvasses and open paint cans. They had also been at the DNC in Philly, they said, and the piece they stood by had been composed, bit by bit, by hundreds of protesters. “It’s surprising there isn’t more political art here,” one remarked. A bystander interjected, “this whole thing is political art.” And indeed, standing at a distance, the march looked like a startling splatter-paint of pink. Millions of feet moved in unison to the rhythm of chants and drumbeats. And above them, a thousand signs waved, knitting together a vast mosaic in prose.